


At Dinner

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Humiliation, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: The argument had spiraled out of nothing, but suffice it to say she did not want to do what the plans called for and that simply would not do.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Barbrey Dustin, Petyr Baelish/Barbrey Dustin/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	At Dinner

“Come over here and make me.” 

The set of her face was almost a pout, and Gods save her but Barbrey wanted nothing more than to smack that look from those porcelain cheeks. 

Petyr was, of course, _nothing_ against her. It was something she lingered over at night after night while she dragged her nails across his back and grazed the raised welts with pleasure. He sighed, her face all concern, and almost rose from his seat at the dinning table before Barbrey cut him short by lifting herself to her full height, back as rigid as the stonework behind her. 

Sansa -- Alayne, it was really hard to tell sometimes -- stood at the edge of the room, hands clasped demurely yet tightly in front of her. The argument had spiraled out of nothing, but suffice it to say she did not want to do what the plans called for and that simply would not do. 

And Petyr and been almost willing to give in, or go the more dangerous route of using charm to get her to bend to his will. Such a thing might have been a complete success just a few scant years ago, but Barbrey recognized the glint in her eyes. She knew she could play him and did so with abandon. 

She did not begrudge the girl that, and indeed there was a certain part of her that was glad she had recognized her power over men, but still she was disrupting what they had in plan, what _she_ wanted, and that simply would not do. 

She moved across the room, the edges of her gown skirting the rushes, and saw Sansa’s eyes widen as she rounded on her. She was not moving but she was shaking, an unmistakable movement that Barbrey could almost taste. 

“Make you?” She asked, her voice a mocking whisper. Behind her she could hear Petyr shift in his seat and stole a look in his direction. His eyes seemed darker, and even though that could be hand-waved as a trick of the light she knew that look. She had shared in it more times than she could count, since she had arrived in the Vale with death on her heels. 

In the darkness, waiting for destruction, they made their own world, their own pleasure. If they were ever to claw their way out of this she was uncertain they would ever speak of it, that she could even look at him again. But for now....

Now her hand reached up to hold Sansa stiffly by the neck, forcing her to look at her father. She saw the girl’s throat work and wondered at the mess of feelings that were surely overtaking her mind -- her short breath, flushed cheeks, clenched fists betrayed a whole host of things that did nothing to quench the queer pleasure rushing through Barbrey’s being. 

"Make you?" she replied, her voice low and mocking. She heard Petyr shift even more in his seat and forced herself to keep looking at the girl. "I think we can do that, can we not? Petyr?"

When his voice came to her ears it was choked and exactly what she wanted, deep down in some shameful part of herself, to hear. "I think that's exactly right."

She moved forward without another word, fingers ripping at the buttons on the back of Sansa's bodice, tearing the expensive silk that Petyr could not help but spoil her with. There was something about seeing it destroyed that upped her arousal, her need, just as the mixed look of horror and want on the girl's face went straight to her cunt. 

She bared her, there in the cool room, and shock and design made Sansa stay still, not cover her ripening breasts. She allowed Petyr to drink his fill for one moment before forcing her, with a matron's hand, to bend low over the table. 

It was then that she caught his gaze. His attention was rapt, shifting between the two of them, and it was clear that he was hard, as needy as she found herself. 

"Do I need to correct her?" Barbrey's voice as clipped and measured, not betraying in the slightest that she dearly wanted to go ahead with this. She could smell the girl's arousal in the air, almost taste it, a sharp contrast to the soft pleas for mercy that came from her mouth. 

"I think you do, unfortunately." He moved his legs, templed his fingers, and regarded the two of them with rapt attention. 

More silk was torn, smallclothes destroyed, and the wet slit that Sansa tired desperately to hide was displayed in all its wanton glory. Barbrey choose her most-ringed hand to move first, striking her hard against her bare backside, making her scream. 

"Now, now sweetling," Petyr choked and it was clear by the movement of his arm that he could not longer stop his own animal desire. "Nothing like that." 

Sansa cried out once more as another smack reddened her backside and then bit her lip, nodding against the tablecloth soaked with tears. "Yes father." 

"Yes father," Barbrey mocked as she slipped her fingers down, trailing along her slit, dragging the tips through the wetness there. "You have such an obedient daughter, Petyr. Look at what she does for you." And she raised her hand to the light so that he might see the glisten there, see her shameful need. 

Petyr parted his lips slightly; she knew what he wanted. She nodded her agreement and stood back just enough, holding Sansa in place as he moved with a stiff walk to join her. 

His own fingers met Barbrey's in the silken cunt and he practically fell against her shoulder winding his other arm about her waist, holding her in place. Not that she would go anywhere, with this soft and weeping and needing example of young womanhood spread before them, open and _theirs._

Barbrey continued to hold her in place, conscious of the way the girl squirmed and tried to hide herself while at the same time her desire poured forth from her. She kept herself silent though, the dutiful daughter, even when Petyr's bare cock pressed against her thigh, even when he came against her skin, creating a more obscene mess than if he had fucked her then and there. 

Barbrey, eyes looked on his release, pressed hard against the nub between Sansa's legs and, almost as one, she and Petyr reached out with stained hands to cover her screaming mouth. 

With a few deep breaths the room around them began to cool and return from its heightened reality. Sansa lay on the table before them, a feast of rumpled and destroyed silk and bare skin, her eyes pressed tightly closed. Barbrey could not help but feel something like envy for her, that she had been given this grand experience while she still stood, wanting, until Petyr rounded on her and shoved a seed-stained hand up her dress, to find her nothing if not ready. 

When he pressed her against the table and took her like that, against the girl's body, she was surprised to find Sansa reaching out to take her hand. 


End file.
